Initiation
by Kondoru
Summary: Tar is an outcast in a Spectran town, His Mother and Twin Sister persecute him for being a boy, his Father doesnt understand him. He has just one friend...
1. The Feral Boy

THE FERAL BOY

Part one of INITIATION

Thanks to JP for Betaing

Standard Disclaimers

--

Run.

The tow headed boy jumped up from where he was industriously slashing the tyres of the Managers car and legged it down the street.

Sure enough the Manager of the market came out of the door, Accompanied by his aide, a man whom the youth knew had long legs.

..And a hard whip hand.

The boy had been caught stealing from the market stalls the month before. He had been caught and handed over to the ungentle hands of the Manager and his whip happy aide. This had not endeared them to him.

The Manager inspected his deflated car with sadness. (One of only a few such vehicles in Wulvatown.)

⌠That dammable brat.■ The Manager growled. He knew who the culprit was, of course.  
⌠I▓m going to have a word with the Governor about him.■ Said the aide optimistically.  
The Manager stared at his lackey, ⌠Oh, she wont take any notice, she lets him run wild.■

--

And indeed, Tar ran very wild.

He was a scrawny dirty urchin, dressed in rags, with unkempt blonde (at least it was blonde when clean) hair and hard blue eyes.

He was always in some trouble or other.

Tar mostly lived with his father. His father had a one room hut in the most unsalubrious part of town. His wife had put him there, also given him the job of butchering livestock. This was regarded as unclean, and so Gelruk was unwelcome in the better parts of town.

Tar regarded his Father as very put upon.

⌠You never stick up for yourself, do you?■ He told his father as they bedded down for the night.

⌠You don▓t know your mother,■ replied Gelruk. Normally he was silent. Tomrys had forbidden him to talk. But when alone with his son he would speak, sometimes.

⌠You▓re a wimp, dad.■ Tar snuggled under the sheepskin quilt.

⌠Hush.■ Gelruk cuddled him. Tar accepted this for an answer; his mother and evil twin never gave him much attention. Gelruk did.

When sober. Gelruk did like his drink.

But today Gelruk was not available.

⌠No, I don't know where your father is.■ Said the head of the slaughterhouse, Tar had hammered on the door of the hut for a while, perhaps his father was sleeping off his drinking.

He had given up and gone poking round the pens.

The man in charge of the butchering had chased him off; Tar had stolen off him before.

Tar cursed him and his ancestors in the worse way he knew.

⌠You shut your foul mouth before I slap you.■ The man growled. Tar was very rude. ⌠I don't know where your drunkard father is.■

Tar spat on the ground and sauntered off.

Typical dad. Going away and leaving me to go hungry.

Your father has probably important business to go upon.

Dad? No! He▓s probably sleeping off the kourmiss somewhere. That or mooching around, scrounging food.

Maybe. Agreed the Voice.

Bored and hungry, Tar went to see his mother.

His mother was the governor of the town. She lived in a spacious villa by the river. It was a proper stone built villa, rare in a land where many of the inhabitants were nomads who never stayed long in town. The settlement had grown up by a bridge that had survived the Fall; it was a trading station for the nomads of the plains and mountains.

They came into town with their massed herds of riding deer, camelids, gorals and shoats, to trade for goods they did not make themselves, it was an exciting place to grow up in, Tar had decided, he had been on journeys with the nomads and found their life very tedious. Tar always had returned home.

Even to his Mothers.

-  
Tar did not want to run the gauntlet of the gatekeeper, so he climbed over the wall. First of all he scanned around for his mothers pet hyenas that were sometimes let loose in the garden.

Instead he met Mala.

Mala was Tars evil twin. Not to mention mothers spoiled darling.

Mala was a GIRL.

Mala wanted to play with him.

Mala had her gang with her. (Miraculously not shot with air rifle, stabbed, or bitten by hyenas.)

Tar had to play with Mala and gang.

⌠Why hello, sis,■ said Tar innocently.

The girls ranged round him, broken down air rifles, catapults and sticks in hand.

⌠Here▓s one of the enemy, lets kill him.■ Said one.

Playing militia was a favourite game of Mala's.

Tar hoped that none of those air rifles were working or the girls had been able to scrounge any pellets. He held up his hands.

⌠You surrender?■ Asked Mala who would rather have shot her brother dead

⌠Yes!■ Tar was not in a mood to fight, or run. Too many times he had had to have pellets dug out of his back.

The girl behind Mala giggled nastily. They had all heard tales of the Governors conquests and what she did to captives.

⌠All I came for was some food!■ Protested Tar.

⌠We don▓t feed POWs who complain.■ Said one of Mala▓s evil little friends

⌠I don▓t want to be a POW anymore.■

Another hit him with a stick.

⌠Oww, can▓t we play slave markets? I▓m a good POW and I think you ought to sell me as a slave.■ Tar suggested.

One of Mala's worst girls glared at him. ⌠You▓re not worth anything; best torture him to death.■

⌠Id make a very good slave.■ Tar looked at Mala, trying to judge her mood. ⌠Why don't you take me to the kitchens and sell me?■

The girls paused. If the cook was in a good mood they would get cakes in return for rounding up a washer upper.

⌠He's a drunkard like his dad!■

⌠No I▓m not.■ Protested Tar who though he had tried his father▓s kourmiss to the point of a hangover, knew better than to be as bad as Gelruk.

Mala's gang disagreed and tried to beat Tar up instead.

Tar was at a distinct disadvantage in the fight. His hands were tied, and all he could do was take a foetal position and pray to his ancestors.

⌠ZOLTAR!!■ Bellowed a depressingly familiar voice.

It was an Ancestor.

⌠Mother?■ Tar whimpered from the bottom of the scrum.

⌠Did you start this?■

⌠No.■

⌠Always when you play with Mala▓s friends a fight breaks out. You are a bad influence.■

Tar decided not to remind her that Mala needed no help from him to cause a riot.

A body moved aside and Tar found himself looking up at his Mother.

Governor Tomrys Latroise was a tall woman with blonde hair and oddly piecing blue eyes. She pulled Tar out from under the bodies of Mala's friends with one sturdy hand. ⌠I have a small job for you.■

--

The furnace was very big and needed cleaning out periodically. By some misdesign it had a small access hatch, one which only Tars thin frame could fit though.

Furnace cleaning was a particularly nasty job and one that fell to whichever of Tomrys offspring was in trouble at the time.

Four fifths of the time that was Tar.

He wearily stripped off his ragged clothing, and climbed up to the top of the furnace. His mother handed him the brush, and he lowered himself though the hatch.

Which was promptly shut and bolted upon him.

Tar sighed in the stygian gloom of his prison. He could breathe; it was his task to brush away the soot and out the ash hatch at the bottom. Nor was the massive wood hungry (chopped by Guess who?) device cramped. There was no light though.

Tar settled down in the ashes and went to sleep.

--

Tar awoke to a horrid cacophony.

There was a banging on the outside of the furnace.

Tar jumped up. ⌠Stop that.■

Mala▓s evil laugh came though more bangs. She had found a hammer and was putting it to good use.  
Tar put his hands over his ears. ⌠Mala!■ He cried in real anguish.

The banging stopped.

⌠Give me that.■ Growled Tomrys. The noise had disturbed the entire house.

⌠Aww, I was having fun.■

⌠Leave your brother alone while he▓s working.■

Silence.

⌠I hope you▓re nearly done.■ Tomrys addressed the furnace.

⌠Yes mother.■ Tar began finally to brush.

--

Presently the hatch was unbolted; Tar screwed his eyes up at the light.

⌠It▓s only me,■ said Mala. ⌠I▓ve brought you food and water.■

⌠Thank you.■

⌠I▓m sorry I was mean to you earlier. I couldn▓t resist it.■

Tar did not say anything to this; It was Mala▓s excuse for everything, such as setting up a door trap of paint for Gelruk on one of his rare visits, or letting the hyenas loose.

⌠Mums mad at me. I▓m spending the night in the cellar.■

Tar decided not to comment. He knew that the cellar, cold and dark though it was a much better place of incarceration than his metal prison. There would be bedding, and a light.

⌠Will you tell our Mother that I have finished?■

Mala nodded. First she climbed up and unbolted the offending hatch.

By the time Tomrys arrived Tar had climbed out.

He stood there, naked, grey with ashes, while his demanding mother inspected the furnace with a torch.

⌠Tolerable,■ sniffed Tomrys. ⌠Now get out to the pump.■

Tar decided not to argue at that.

A kitchen slave pumped water all over a shivering but thankful Tar while a smirking Mala watched.

⌠I've not finished with you yet.■ Tomrys came out of the kitchen with a towel; ⌠you▓re going in the bath with Mala.■

Mala glared at this but her look was wasted upon her mother, whose back was turned to her while rubbing her brothers down.

Tomrys was evidently pleased with her unwanted sons work, that and slightly guilty, for she bathed him herself. Fortunately this was after Mala had been attended to, or else his twin would have taken the opportunity to pull his hair or other bits.

After his bath Tar was rubbed dry and taken down to the cellar. There were several rooms, a root cellar, wine and beer, and a locked store for other matters.

Such as his mothers arsenal.

There was a small munitions dump in there; Tar lived in a society in which most adults had shotguns and hunting rifles, but his mother kept more serious firearms. He had seen the armoury of the town militia; nothing compared to his mother▓s collection.

Just who was his mother? She had had spent many years in the military, and won several medals for work offplanet, but Tar was sure that most old soldiers did not take their armament into retirement with them.

When foolishly he had asked his mother about this she had beaten him bloody.

Tar learnt his lesson.

On the floor was a mattress, his sister already sleeping. Tar climbed under the rough blanket with her.  
For once Mala did not push him away.

--

Tar had a low opinion of the militia, and rightly so, they were the worst sort of idlers, supposedly protecting his mothers town from the wild folk of the wilderness, in reality being greater parasites themselves, not a day but they were loitering outside the barracks, if they could get any, drinking and smoking, or if they had run out of credits, idling with their female counterparts or going down the river for a swim and no doubt an indiscrete tryst. In winter they kept inside the barracks, or visited or were visited by their female comrades. Every so often their superiors would inspect them, and they would spend a few days frantically repairing and cleaning kit.

Sometimes they went on patrols, basically an excuse to meet herding members of the opposite sex and warn the wild folk to stay out of town as Governor Tomrys was angry.

They were always getting into scrapes of one kind or another, inevitably petty, and it was the eternal shame of Governor Tomrys that the criminals in the petty courts were often those who were supposedly upholding the law.

Tar hung out with the militia for the stories though, mostly the age old ones.

How once upon a time, their world was not wasteland, but a paradise of farms and flowers. The human population was uncountable, many living in immense cities.

These people lived lives of luxury; even the poorest had a home full of unimaginable luxuries.

⌠Like the governors villa?■ ⌠Pretty similar but better still.■)

But they were never happy and so the universe which had aided them so much, decided to punish them.

(⌠Its best to be content with what you have,■ ■so it is,■ ■but apparently their society could not function without everyone being greedy.■ Tar could not get his head around this.)

Then came the Fall, and the planet was reduced to desert, none survived.

The Luminous One came, he tried to get the people to see the error of their ways.

The people ignored him.

A few did listen; they were the Spirits Chosen People

They alone survived the Fall, and it was them who the Great One helped rebuild the planet, creating the world of today.

⌠The Spirit?■ Asked Tar.

⌠He▓s called by many names.■

⌠The Searing Eye of Enlightenment■ Added a woman at the back.

⌠The Mighty One.■ Said the man next to the old campaigner.

⌠The Great Spirit.■ Informed a third.

⌠The Luminous One.■

⌠Doe he really exist?■ ▒Tar said, for he had little faith in the mumblings of priests.

⌠Yes he does■ said the old campaigner.

⌠Have you seen him?■ ▒Tar was cynical.

⌠He lives in the City of Light■

⌠Tomrys has seen him, that's why she's such a bitch!■

Laughter.

⌠Has she?■ But Tar did not know what to think. People talked about the City of Light in such ambiguous tones, the priests were serious but the common people used the term to mean a place that did not exist.

For none had seen it

Tar heard many stories.

The old campaigner counted the innumerable army of the city of the Spirit, even at a distance ▒Tar could see him hold up his hand; ten fingers, ten, ten of tens.

⌠A very big militia?■ Asked Tar.

⌠And that's not all, the spirit has more weapons than just soldiers.■

⌠He has monstermechs■ another added.

⌠Like in the comics?■ Tar was inclined not to believe in mechs.

⌠Yes■

⌠No one in the Empire crosses the Great One; he has weapons that can level a mighty city to the ground in a heartbeat■

⌠Oh?■ Tar was disbelieving.

⌠As well as the unconquerable weapons, the army is led by the Chosen One himself, the human agent of the Luminous One■

⌠Who is he?■ Asked Tar.

But no one could tell him.

--

When Tar turned twelve he decided to expand his vistas.

It was getting too hot for him in Wulvatown, thieving overlooked when he was younger more often ended in a beating, and worse.

Twice now he had ended up in juvenile court.

One of his mothers other hats were of JP.

Tar ended up on the chain gang.

The overseers and other convicts were kind to him, but this helped not at all.

All that month, Tar worked hard, somehow glad of regular meals and a warm bed in the prison compound. He did lessons too, something he had lagged at.

Tar knew that to get ahead, he would have to learn to read and write well.

Everyone was very pleased with his progress and his social worker was planning on finding a foster home for him. "We all know what your mothers like and your fathers hopeless." He told Tar, ⌠You▓re a promising boy and if you work hard you will go far.■

Listen to the man, Tar said the Voice in his head.

Tar shook his head mentally, no, as soon as I▓m freed I▓m getting on the next caravan out of here. He told the Voice, I▓m not going to face Mala and mum any longer.

Very well, will you listen to me then?

Tar did not reply to that.

--

As soon as he was paroled Tar did indeed leave Wulvatown; Tar packed his bag and left with the nomads. He spent the next six months on the move, doing a bit of work to earn his keep.

When he was in town he thieved, For Tar had little respect for settled people.

He had bought a few books and notepads, a member of the Luminati had given Tar a copy of the book of the Spirit.

Read it well, Tar, advised the Voice

Religion is bunkum, said Tar, for like many primitives, his views were a curious mix of the superstitious and rationalist.

It pays to be pious, Tar the Voice explained.

Or to look pious grumbled Tar.

We will see, replied the Voice mysteriously.

Tar nodded and worked on his reading skills, the Voice helping out sometimes. The Voice suggested the Internet; Tar had never used a computer, though his mother did have one. (Out of bounds to Tar, of course.)

Computers were for silly intellectuals.

Intellectuals are not silly, Tar, the Voice told him. You should know that.

Poncey university students. Sulked Tar who had heard many disparaging tales of such life forms from the militia, many of whom could not read.

So the Voice told Tar of the joys of academia. The serenity of studying, the wild parties at night, full of booze and girls, the satisfaction of learning new things.

Every decent person respects the robes and mortarboard of a graduate said the Voice.

There are lots not decent.

They are lower than slaves...A lot of slaves respect learning; it▓s a good way to gain freedom, and more than that..

This made Tar thoughtful, he decided to humour the Voice for once.

So Tar took a computer course and learned what he was missing.

As the Voice had promised, Tar liked it.

I rather fancy going to university one day, confided Tar. But you need money to go. He paused. I expect Mala will be sent to university when she's older...that or join the military, he said sadly.

You can go back to Wulvatown, Ill tell your mother to treat you a bit better as you have reformed.

Tar shook his head, no thanks...but how do I get there?

I have several contacts, Tar. Reassured the Voice, you can join a monastery as a novice and study for a scholarship. There▓s plenty of ways a smart person can get to uni; I made sure of that, even if they are poor.

That's good, agreed Tar.

--

A few days later Tar was on top of the wooden roof of the covered market, looking for a new and secret way to get in. The doors were locked firmly every night, and there was a nightwatchman who checked them at annoyingly irregular intervals. Tar had to think of something new.

This is a very old roof, Tar, said the Voice as the planks creaked alarmingly.

Relax, it▓s just the same as the one in Wulvatown. I climbed that enough, didn't I? Tar reassured.

That was a newer roof, and you were lighter then! Warned the Voice as a rotted plank gave way, taking Tar with it.

He landed in a heap on a stone floor, to the surprise of the greengrocers whose stall he missed by inches.

I told you it was not safe. Chided the Voice.

Oh you go screw your self! And the youth fainted in pain.

When he came round, several of the stallholders were bending over him, concern on their faces.

Tar flinched back, fearing a beating, his leg twanged with new agony and he whimpered, this was serious.

⌠Your legs at a funny angle,■ said a tall man with red hair, ⌠I think its broken.■

⌠Who are you?■ Asked the woman by him, ⌠you don't seem to be a local boy.■

Tar would not tell them his parents, for fear of what his mother would do.

⌠An orphan eh?■

Tar nodded.

⌠We will take you to the hospice then.■

--

He spent the following month in being looked after by the monks. He was treated kindly, but chafed at the inactivity.

The abbot spent a lot of time talking about religion.

Tar was not against talking about religion.

What made him reticent on the subject was the Voice sniggering every time it was brought up. Don▓t take them seriously Tar...Don't take me too seriously, come to it.

Tar did not know what to make of that. But he wants me to become a monk; I told him I wanted to study for a scholarship to a university...You heard me?

The Voice agreed.

He seems to have the same opinions of universities as do mums militia. He thinks they are hotbeds of carnal wickedness.

No, not all monasteries are the same. The Voice paused, but he is right, there's lots of pleasures of the flesh in unis.

This is the wrong one. I▓m not staying here,said Tar determinedly, Ill go back to the streets.

Do you want to be an outcast all your life?

▒Tar screwed up his face. I don't care; it▓s all I know.

Its fine now, people are prepared to forgive you your thieving.

I steal because I need to eat! He growled.

Oh? And selling that box of jewellery to the fence so you could buy those toys was somehow necessary?

It was easier and safer than robbing the toy store...You told me to be prudent in my thieving.

You did not need those action figures you know.

▒Tar sniffed. You know full well my mother would never have bought me them.

No? She buys your sister what she wants.

She loves my sister very much.

Yes.

Do you know why she hates me? And my father?

Your mother is a very fine woman.

You▓re scared of her too. He accused.

She has many good qualities, I hope one day you will be able to see them.

I wish I were a girl! All the strong people ▒Tat knew were females.

You▓re fine just as you are.

Girls get to wear pretty clothing, they don't have to do dirty work nor do they get beaten as much as I do. Look at Mala.

Mala is neither as strong nor as smart as you are. Reassured the Voice.

Ah, are you so very sure? Tar replied wearily.

No, to get back to the topic of our conversation, you know what will happen to you if you continue like this into your adulthood? You will be caught and sent to a labour camp.

Ill escape!

Or hung the Voice paused spitefully. And do not say you do not deserve it.

You▓ll protect me?

Possibly. The Voice half reassured. I am half tempted to sell you off as a slave.

The youth burrowed under the covers, whimpering. This was a favourite threat of his mothers. She had in fact sold his father several times over the years. (Something the apathetic Gelruk endured.) He did not want to become a slave, though was partially resigned to that fate. You don't know any slavers.

You will be surprised at the amount of people I do know. Some of my contacts deal in all sorts of things in the empire, including slaves. A Spectran slave fetches good money on places like Sigma Minor.

▒Tar was rigid with shock; it was normally illegal to sell a slave offworld, though there were exceptional cases. If you were sent offworld it was a great dishonours and tantamount to a death sentence.

I'm sure there are many nice Sigman women who would buy such a cute boy as you. The Voice informed spitefully.

▒Tar did not like this; He had seen the massive Sigmans sometimes in the market. They were a warrior race, very tough and not known for gentleness towards those weaker than them. He really did not want to be sold off as a pet.

Ill run away! He threatened defiantly.

The Sigmans have some truly vicious hunting dogs. Worse than your mothers hyenas.

They won▓t catch me!

They will if I tell them where you are.

You wouldn▓t dare. The youth was shocked. The Voice could be nasty but this...

Would I not?

▒Tar whimpered.

No, why do not you come and serve me?

You? He had no idea the Voice existed outside of his head.

You are already used to me as a master

▒Tar started sweating. The Voice had served him well over the years. But it was also demanding and could be very cruel. He had an idea it was also in some way responsible for his lowly state.

I▓m not your slave!

Oh you are, Tar, you are... The Voice crooned like poisoned honey. I own your soul, of little worth it might be...at the moment.

▒Tar lay rigid in sweat soaked sheets. Who are you anyway? He though he knew, but was afraid to admit it.

You know me.

I do not.

You know me. I know you.

Go away! Go away and begone!

You do know me? The Voice laughed. A thing the youth had learnt to fear.

You▓re Not my master!

Oh?

Go away, demon!! He was screaming in terror now.

Demon? Tar, I am hurt, I am very hurt.

Begone, in the Name of the Luminous One!

You said my Name! I am touched! I can enter you fully now!!

He sank down into blissful insanity.

--oOo-- 


	2. The Madman

THE MADMAN

Part Two of Initiation

By Kondoru

Standard Disclaimers

Thanks to JP for Betaing.

* * *

THE MADMAN

This was a valley deep within the great mountains. Snow capped mountains were on every horizon, their lower slopes covered with tall dark cedars, a fast flowing river flowed though the centre, it was one of the planets greatest watercourses, but you would not know that to look at it here. The land was uninhabited beside a few villages, instead wildlife abounded, the woods and pastures were full of singing birds, bristle tailed squirrels scampered though the trees, brown foxes yipped, elk browsed on the bushes and grass which was full of many flowers.

The village was small, and nameless to all except the locals. The inhabitants lived by goatherding, a little crop growing and handicrafts. They had very little to do with the outside world, so it was a surprise when someone spotted a van coming up the dirt road that lead to the plains.

"Visitors." A woman pointed down the valley at the intruders.

The smith emerged from the forge with a battered pair of binoculars. He surveyed the truck. "`Official` visitors." he spat on the ground.

The first woman ran to get the headman, her hands still covered in curds where she had been making cheese, still, that could wait.

The villagers assembled in the main street, each managing to make it look as if his or her official business had led them naturally there.

The military van had seen better days. It ground to an unseemly halt in the space before the headmans house.

The Driver opened the door and got out. He looked around and grunted in evident satisfaction.

The headman watched from the shade of a ruined wall. He had no intention of introducing himself unless the soldiers asked after him. But they did not. Another soldier got out from the passengers side.

He walked round the back of the van and unlocked the door. "Get out, the journeys over." he barked into the darkness.

The third passenger did not emerge.

The soldier slapped the door with a sharp bang; "I didn't bring you all this way for you to sit tight. Get out."

Nothing happened. Several villagers who had been watching this farce stepped forwards.

"Dog won't come?" said the first insolently. He was dressed like all the villagers in scuffed up leathers. Leather and furs were the main items of dress for Spectran natives; only cultured folk wore more than a few items of textiles.

The soldier stared from the interior of the van to the speaker with some distaste. He had a marked dislike of the `wild people`, as the dwellers of the planets few towns called them. It was always the natives who caused silly trouble for the militia to sort out. But he knew that the natives often supplied Spectras finest minds, -that and the Elite.

"Get out before I smack you silly."

There was still no response.

A second scruffy villager came up, he was slapping a whip idly against his side. "Not trained him properly, eh?"

The driver of the van came round. "What's causing the trouble?" He glared at the villager under his mask.

The first wordlessly gestured into the van.

The driver scowled in exasperation. "She said to dump him off and shift." He climbed into the van. There was the sound of a blow and a yelp of distress and a third newcomer came catapulting out of the van.

This person was a boy looking to be in his early teens; he was naked and rather dirty. he cowered down, hiding his eyes from the sun.

The two soldiers got back in the cab and drove off down the track without further explanation. The puzzled villagers stared at it until it was out of sight.

Their abandoned supercargo sat in the dirt, blinking miserably at the light. He was thin and covered in bruises. He slumped to the ground, waiting for acceptance, or death.

The headman looked at him. He was very perplexed. What was going on? And what to do with this arrival?

"Wait! you cannot drink from that." The youth had dragged himself to his feet and made his way to the horse trough, he slumped down and began to scoop out water.

The goat herders wife pulled him away, he looked at her incomprehendingly. "I'll get you some milk." She told him.

The youth sat back down.

"He needs a bath. Look how filthy he is." said another.

The Headman shook his head wonderingly, "another idle mouth to feed." he turned to the visitors, "Ill sort this out," he announced.

He then turned back around. "what?" Their visitor had disappeared.

He was hiding under a cart.

The goatherder managed to drag the youth out.

"Put him in the stables. He looks like he can be a handful." Ordered the Headman wearily.

The goat herder and the smith manhandled their cross looking charge into the stables.

"Ill get the Abbot, he will know what to do." Sighed the headman wearily.

* * *

The new arrival was quite mad. He seemed incapable of speech beyond a whimper. He spent much of his time in a huddle, staring blankly. The headman brought him a big bowl of roast meat and a few slices of bread. "Don't bolt it, you will be sick." He had to hold the bowl back and hand the food piece by peace to his hungry charge.

Eventually he finished and settled down in the straw to sleep.

* * *

The youth settled in. He was content for once in his life. At home he had been made to feel very inferior, given all the worst tasks to do. Now he was mad he wasn't expected to do anything. Instead he stayed in the stable.

Periodically a villager would bring him a bowl of bread and milk or stew. but otherwise he was undisturbed.

He had no real idea of the passing of time so did not realise that it was nearly two days when the Abbot visited him. He looked the boy over, grunted in evident satisfaction then departed as abruptly as he had entered the stables.

* * *

Later the Abbot sat in the Headman's house drinking tea from a pre-fall teacup.

"An interesting case, very interesting."

"He's quite mad."

"So the poor boy is, but he is also a very holy man."

The headman and his wife looked surprised. "Holy?"

"He `is` a holy man, the Luminous Spirit has touched his mind, that is why he is completely mad."

"Mad? Why is he holy if he's so obviously either insane or deficient?" Asked the headman.

"Only the strongest intellects can be spoken to by the Great One and remain unharmed. This one obviously is strong, but not quite developed enough."

"How can you tell?" Asked the goatherds wife curiously. She was neglecting her cheeses, and was sitting across from the headman.

"Several ways," the Abbot held up his hand. "We Luminati know the Touch of the Searing Eye of Enlightenment. Also the diviners sense a great presence."

The Headman knew better than to argue on that. But he was curious on other matters. "Why was he dumped in our village? By the militia too?"

The abbot shook his head. "Since its the militia I would say it was on the orders of someone else...Someone in the Luminati...Very possibly going high as the Luminous One himself."

The headman did not like the way this was going. "Why here?" He prodded his own tea cup (modern, local made) thoughtfully. "Is it some sort of test?"

"If its anything to reassure you, I think your village was chosen at random;" The abbot placed another slice of cheese on his bread, "I like this cheese very much."

"I made it myself," said the goatherds wife cheerily, who had been sat silently. She had indeed, a decade ago, this was well matured cheese for honoured guests only.

"Ill give you a round." The headman sighed inwardly; You didn't eat ten year matured cheese everyday. The abbot would for a while though.

"That's very nice of you," replied the abbot, "if I took a whole round, my monks would eat it all, the gluttons. Ill have just a small lump, if you don't mind."

The headman sighed with relief, he would treat himself to some more by way of reward.

"You asked if it was a test," the abbot was all business now he had eaten the cheese. "As I said, I think you were selected at random, but you could view it as a test. Treat this boy well. He is the Great Lights very own."

* * *

The youth was treated much better now he was a holy man.

His cage was cleaned thoroughly, and he was given a thorough wash.

The carpenter took charge of him, as the Headman and his family were too busy.

He lived in a simple cell, its floor was thickly strewn with straw, he had a couple of rough blankets, that and a big water pot that was too heavy to spill was the only furnishings. There was a window but it was too high for him to see out of, even with his tall frame. not that he cared, being content just to sit staring into space.

The daily routine was easy, the carpenters oldest son would come with his breakfast, early, for he simply had to be fed before the rest of the family, as an honoured guest.

Afterwards would be a brisk rub down with a wet cloth, the rag that he wore would be pulled around to something resembling decency. he would be led out for a walk round the village. The headman didn't trust him and so the youth wore a stout belt to which was attached a rope.

After this he was fed,. then out back into his now freshly cleaned pen.

This was the routine most days.

On holy days he was brought out and paraded around the village on the end of a rope, like a dancing bear or tame ape.

There would be a feast, on trestle tables. Each villager would make his or her own special dish for all to try.

Happy was the villager who's dish he deigned to sample, for that meant good luck. The youth always ate a lot on holy days, since the canny carpenter kept him hungry enough to try everything.

If there was a visitor to the village he was bathed specially, given a clean rag and fresh garland to wear. He would be introduced by the Headman. The youth could sit nicely, and the visitor would um and ah and say they would pray for his recovery.

* * *

The youth made no outward progress.

Inside though...

...He could feel the touch of the Luminous One.

The Spirit had spoken to him as far back as he could remember, previously it had merely brushed minds, this time He had entered the mind fully.

The youths sanity had fled.

But he was getting used to the presence now, that and the enormity of being chosen by the deity.

So you're the Great One? Asked the youth one day as he sat in his cell waiting for the next meal.

Very amusing, not, `Tar. Replied the presence. Who do you think I am? One of the demons who haunt the minds of the ignorant and superstitious? You may be ignorant, but I know your a rationalist.

To be honest, I thought you were always part of me.

You are quite sane...Until recently, reassured the Spirit.

I'm mad now, aren't I? He asked mournfully.

In a period of adjusting to my presence. Most humans find telepathy very stressful; you have an innate ability, all you need is practice.

But Ill get better, wont I?

You will if you listen to me and do your mental exercises.

Yes Master.

The Luminous one now was no longer a small voice in the back of his mind, simple and unobtrusive, but a terrifying domineering presence. One he could no longer disobey, at least openly.

* * *

Why are you so cynical about religion then? Asked his uncorporeal master one day.

Its the road to ignorance and superstition. Replied `Tar, quoting his mother.

How do you mean that? The Spirit was gently chiding.

Zoltar shook his matted head, I've never seen much to impress me.

In a trading centre like Wulvatown, no, you haven't seen one of my temple centres or mountain monasteries yet.

Its all some absurd hierarchy of blue robed Luminati trying to keep cushy positions, that and my mother and even my father sniggering behind their backs.

I am afraid your parents have no appreciation of Spectran history.

History?

Our religion is not just worship of `me` `Tar, the original faith of Spectra was nature worship, an appreciation of the entire universe as well as what you see around you.

Oh? ``Tar was interested, he had never heard this.

There are many religions on Spectra, `Tar, most people do me lip service, but more follow nature cults, and things like cults of the machine..

Zoltar said nothing, he had heard that priests of the machine god bodies were made of metal melded with their flesh, their idols were machines infused with human spirits, who could think like a mortal. It seemed all very unlikely to him.

I want you to learn all of these.

`Tar cheered up, I love to learn and see new things, he admitted.

Which is more than many people.

They are indifferent to learning, and scared of new things. Zoltar had seen this often in Wulvatown.

Yes, but you're not, this is why I talk to you. I know you listen.

I'm glad you have faith in me, Zoltar was pleased.

A little. but one day you will know everything, I can promise you that. All the riches of the mind you will have.

You're my great master, smiled Zoltar.

* * *

Life went on, `Tar continued in his mental studies, though outwardly he was still helpless. spending a lot of time sitting or lying down in his pen, inside he listened avidly to the Luminous Ones daily lectures.

These covered a wide range of subjects, chemistry, philosophy, ecology, music theory, astrology, history anthropology, theology, all these and more they talked about; `Tar was an able student, of good memory, he asked pertinent questions, even on subjects he was unfamiliar with.

The Great One was very pleased with Zoltar.

`Tar slept, murmuring in contentment. He was getting more fond of his strange master every day.

Ok, what do you know about the Fall? Asked the Mighty One later after `Tar had woken.

Only what I read in your book, Zoltar admitted.

That is the basics, yes.

It sounds very far fetched to me, admitted Zoltar, the star exploding and the world dying, a long time ago.

Over seven thousand years ago. nevertheless it is true.

True? Zoltar was uncertain.

Stars do die, `Tar, sometimes catastrophically.

I like to know more, replied `Tar, though he was still doubtful.

And so The Mighty One told `Tar the story of Spectra's fall.

Long ago, Spectra had been a populous highly developed planet, because of the cult of the planet worship, they did not go far away from their happy home, though they certainly were an interstellar race with many contacts with surrounding inhabited worlds. but they had no colonies of their own beyond a few scientific outposts.

It was one of these which discovered that a nearby star was about to die.

Ordinary stars would first of all implode, and then throw off their outer layers, often several times. This only really affected the immediate area.

A supernova was a different event altogether.

This particular star was going to explode in a far more violent fashion; it was a red giant, and when a red giant collapses on itself, the energy is liberated in a massive explosion which is one of the most catastrophic events the Universe knows.

If a star went supernova then the whole area for over a hundred light years would be bombarded with high intensity radiation and subatomic particles, not to mention every heavy element in existance.

This would sterilise any life bearing planet in that zone.

This did not bode well for Spectra, which was a mere forty light years from the stricken star.

`Tar had been caught up in the excitement of this story, one he had heard many times during his life, but the Great Spirit telling him what he had witnessed personally added a new interest to this. He would never fall asleep in the temple ever again.

Where do you come in? He asked.

Me? I travel around a bit, I knew the star was about to go supernova, an event that happens so seldom.

`Tar had a sudden thought. Do you eat energy?

Why yes, I'm an energy being...But I wasn't interested in the output of the explosion. If its anything to you, Id be at much risk as a human in a supernova.

Oh, he replied, then paused in thought, where are you from? Asked `Tar, this the Book of the Spirit was silent on.

Not around here... Laughed the Spirit.

Oh?

I'm from the next, much bigger galaxy. I have been travelling a main long time.

Zoltar quailed at the enormity of this, he decided not to enquire further.

* * *

Over the next few months the Spirit described how He had saved Spectra. Zoltar understood very little of the exact mechanics, but one thing was sure. This was an planetary engineering project of a scale beyond a human mind.

Spectra was now within the Nebula, a searing zone of immense radiation, slap bang (OK, 40 light years) next to the Pulsar which was the remains of the unfortunate red giant.

The planet was sterilised. And would remain barren. So the Luminous One devised a network of overlapping force field generators, which shielded the entire planet. Only then could humans return.

And start to grow plants again. Zoltar had heard the term `terraform`. On many worlds this interference was a theory; To a Spectran it was the sole reality of their existance.

No wonder they worshiped their God so feverently. The Spirit was life and death itself.

But The Mighty One had not yet explained why he was so interested in such a lowly creature as Zoltar.

The Great One told him about Tarjen.

I have heard of him, yes, Zoltar said thoughtfully.

He was the first of my Chosen Ones.

What do you mean by that? Asked Zoltar, who had heard the term before, but only vaguely.

Its a very special position in my faith, I don't always take on a Chosen. But He did not tell Zoltar under just what circumstances he took a Chosen on.

What does the Chosen One do? Asked Zoltar, knowing he was expected to prompt with questions...As long as the Spirit deemed them sensible, which He didn't always.

The Chosen is my special spokesman.

But you said you had high priests to communicate your will to, Zoltar said thoughtfully, why a Chosen?

A Chosen is special, they have been initiated in secrets and rites far above the highest of the Luminati, they are sharp of brain and beautiful of body, and unlike a faceless Luminati or masked tech priest, they are distinct and extravagant characters...Everybody knows and will follow them.

What he didn't tell Zoltar was that he only took a Chosen on when He had a big project in mind; one that would demand complete loyalty from his subjects.

* * *

'Tar was getting tired of being mad, aside from listening to his Master talk there was very little to stimulate him apart from the condescending visits of his keepers.

They keep me like a beast, don't they? He scanned his pen miserably.

No matter, the villagers treat you like you deserve.

I `am` a beast, aren't I?

Be content that you are fed and sheltered.

You didn't answer my question.

The Luminous One dealt him a painful mental blow. The youth fainted.

* * *

It was many days before he had recovered his senses sufficiently to speak with his hidden master again.

Better?

The youth whimpered. He had not had a good day. The villagers were busy on some petty project or other, and so he had not had his usual stroll. Nor, more annoyingly, had his meals arrived upon time.

Are you?

The youth gave up his contemplation of the stone wall. Talking to his master was an improvement on that. Ok.

I can see you are just fine.

I'm mad.

You are making excuses for yourself. You are not mad anymore. If you were you would not have spoken to me in such a flippant manner.

Uhuh.

Don't grunt at me. Why don't you try to act normal for once?

`Tar agreed to try.

He fell asleep.

* * *

Presently the door was unbarred. In came Haden, the carpenters daughter.

"Good afternoon Holy One." She greeted him in the formal manner.

"Afternoon." The youth replied. His voice was shaky from lack of use. He did not realise it, but he had been the holy madman for over a year.

"You can speak!"

`Tar nodded.

Haden put down the tray. "Ill tell my father about this!"

That is better.

Is it? It means they will put me to work.

Lazy cur. Some work will do you good.

Yes Master replied the youth with a note of cynicism.

The door was unbarred and the carpenter came in, awe on his face. "Haden said you spoke to her."

"I did."

"So you've recovered your senses?"

"I think so. Let me rest a few days."

* * *

The youth had many annoying visitors those few resting days. The Headman came and spoke to him. Then the Abbot.

The abbot was pleased at his recovery. "It was only a matter of time."

'Tar nodded.

"Are you ready to be initiated yet?" Asked the abbot cheerily.

'Tar shook his head, "I haven't been given further instructions," he admitted.

"Be patient."

The headman wanted to know where the youth came from.

The youth simply said. "Aren't you content merely to see me well?"

The Abbot advised the villagers not to ask too many prying questions. "He's a holy man and that's all you need to know."

* * *

Being sane had its drawbacks. The youth pondered as he brushed shavings from his hosts workshop floor. The villagers were still kind to him. They gave him their old clothes. He now slept on a lumpy pallet in the attic with the Carpenters second son, Taul, a youth a year older than he was. Taul was kind enough in his own way, but he expected his companion to pull his weight in chores.

Nor was the youth regarded as holy anymore. He was disappointed.

They want me to take up a trade. He muttered. The youth knew nothing more than how to thieve and hopefully get away with it. That and dodge blows from his mother. If he knew any trade it was of butcher, and he did not want to go back to living in his fathers hovel on the outside of town.

Never mind. I have work for you, Zoltar.

The Luminous One now called 'Tar by his full name as diminutives were only suitable for slaves.

Ah?

A good job, Zoltar, to be my hands and feet upon Spectra.

The youth frowned. He had heard that phrase somewhere before...

Your next task is to come to me.

I thought you were with me.

I am. But I have a home too.

Aren't you just? He waved a hand in the air.

No, I can send my presence where I will. I have a body which is material, in many ways more `real` than yours.

So why are you called The Spirit? The youth was curious.

No more petty questions!

The youth sank down upon his knees. I'm so sorry master, punish me as you will.

No need for that, you will suffer enough on the journey to my City.

The City of Light? Its not a myth? The youth was awestruck.

Its real, Zoltar, very real.

The Great One never ceased to astound `Tar.

* * *

The City of Light was the last city upon Spectra. All the others had not survived the Fall.

Unlike Wulvatown the city was of impossibly tall towers that reached up to the sky, they were made of gold and silver, many were encrusted with uncountable jewels which reflected the sun.

Its shining towers were depicted in many temples. Often on intricately embroidered wall hangings or rugs, some temples, however, claimed to have an `actual` photograph of the City, these were sacred relics and only taken out on holy days.

Naturally the City housed many treasures. Expensive technological items were strewn around in the streets, which were paved in marble. There were many cars, like what his mother owned, indeed all the dwellers owned cars. There were art galleries and museums.

At the centre of this was the great temple, said to contain the sum total of human knowledge.

It was truly a fantastic place.

Ships from all over the Empire came to the city's spaceports, bearing even more riches as tribute to the Searing Eye of Enlightenment.

But no one knew where it was.

* * *

Where do you think I live? A hutment like your Mothers?

You know my mother? Zoltar was curious.

Of course I know your Mother! I know your mother well! She was one of my Devil Stars before she became the Governor of the town.

Devil Star? This explained a lot. An awful lot

The Devil Stars were the Luminous Ones own women.

He had heard of the Devil stars, an elite corps of assassins who were the secret police of the Empire.

They did His will all over the Empire. It was their solemn task to keep an eye upon the subject rulers of the empire, make sure they toed the line, also that tribute was delivered upon time. Doing His will often involved fatalities and the Devil Stars were famed and dreaded as spies and assassins.

And your father was one of my Blackhawks.

Zoltar was even more awestruck, his father, the simple minded mute, one of the dreaded birdmen.

The Blackhawks were the Spirits other elite; they were the hunters of the Mighty Spirit who served him in his conquests. In reward he had turned them into fearsome birds of prey, but they could return to their human form if need be.

And his poor father was one! This explained a lot of things, his frequent absences, and his willingness to work in the slaughterhouse, as a predatory bird he would need to eat an awful lot of fresh meat.

So they exist?

You do say some stupid things. Most unbecoming to one of your high intelligence and status. Yes, I do have a home and yes, it is in the City of Light. He paused. I `made` you, Zoltar; I ordered your father and mother to breed.

Oh! He did not know what to say. He knew his parents were incompatible, evidently his master had taken steps.

And I want to see you there before I have to put up with your inane drivelling ever again.

And He was gone.

The youth blinked. Had he a lot to think about.

Clearly Zoltar would have to do something about this.

He had to find out where the fabled City was.

Even if he died on the journey.

---------------------------------------------------------oOo-----------------------------------------------------------------


	3. The Aspirant

THE ASPIRANT

Part Three of Initiation

By Kondoru

Standard Disclaimers

Thanks to JP for Betaing.

* * *

"Abbot, I want to know about the City of Light."

The old monk eyed his guest shrewdly; He was a boy in his mid teens, very soft and effeminate looking, in fact the monk had thought he was a girl until the monk on the gate had told him otherwise. His hair was blonde, of shoulder length, tied back in an untidy ponytail and partially hidden under his sheepskin jacket.

He had arrived unannounced at the monastery gates the day before yesterday.

This establishment was a very remote one. Situated in the eastern hills of the great mountain chain. It was well off the beaten track, but had a reputation for holding secret teachings.

At least, it had a reputation in the right circles. This youth was just a commoner, despite his pretensions to speaking high Spectran, a language not in common use since before the Fall.

How had this whelp known?

The youths eyes burned with a fanaticism the Abbot had seen in few eyes; it was so intense he could not meet them for more than a few seconds, clearly there was more to this teen than met the ordinary gaze. Abbot Gordo thought he detected another presence, but was not sure.

"But you pronounce its name in vain. You young people are full of curiosity; you are just asking after the Holy City to satisfy some childish whim. You know nothing"

He shook his head. "I know lots." Growled the youth, the blue fire in his eyes even icier.

The abbot held up a hand. "You are a young person in search of material wealth." Well the abbot knew of the many stories detailing the unlimited riches of the Luminous One, probably this seeker had heard them and decided to enrich himself.

The youth looked angry for a moment, "I am not some peasant looking for a quick and easy road to riches; for a start I know for a fact that the road is not quick nor is it easy. Many have perished."

The abbot nodded, "and the riches are powers beyond your imagination, not gold or jewels."

"I have no lust for riches, its power and knowledge I am hungry for. I can get to the city of the Luminous One" He smiled; "perhaps I know things that are new to you. Such as the book on the City by Brother Luska of Kolchis monastery, and the travels of Anzion."

Abbot Gordo nodded again. He had not heard of the new book, but was familiar with the researches of Brother Luska. He had met Anzion once, and learned things that he was sworn by the Eternal Flame never to repeat.

"Are you going to help me then?" The youth replied at the Abbots thoughtful face.

"Do not reach so readily for the flames of the Spirit lest you are burned."

"I'm not afraid of fire." The youth pushed back his unkempt hair.

"Roll up your sleeve then." The abbot commanded.

His visitor obeyed, revealing a lightly haired arm on which the sinews stood out like cord; he was stronger than he seemed. The abbot picked up a glowing piece of charcoal from the brazier with the tongs and placed it on the youth's skin.

The aspirant made no move away from the fire. He winced but made no move to flick it off.

A long moment passed; "if you are going to burn me like this, brand me with the holy symbols."

"You are not worthy." The abbot picked up the charcoal with his fingers; he placed it back on the brazier, and wiped his hands on the mat.

The youth grabbed up the abbot's hand and looked incredulously at the unburnt fingers, his eyes fell to the angry red mark upon his arm.

The abbot laughed softly "seems you have a long way to go. You think you have strength and knowledge but you are still a child." He rang a bell.

"I am no child" the youth scowled at the abbot's back.

A monk came in, "take this tyke to the slaves quarters, I'll speak to him further later."

* * *

Later was many days later. The youth reflected as he stacked firewood.

He had been allocated a pallet in the slaves quarters, -next to the draughty door he noted. He was given a regular dole of porridge, stew and dried fruit, washed down with cups of tea and milk. In return for this he was expected to do all the dirty jobs that no one else was prepared to do. Mucking out the stables, slaughtering and butchering any livestock that had been gifted `on the hoof`.

Jobs he was used to.

The other slaves, all of them long owned by the monastery sniggered behind his back. Like the Abbot and his monks they were partially impressed by his devotion to his quest, that and gently cynical. He was a bit young to be a zealot, after all.

In spite of this he was content. His mother had treated him like a slave; at least here he was not beaten.

But he wanted more than just to be fed and sheltered now. His childhood had been undemanding; at least it was easier as soon as he realised that he was never going to be as welcome in the town governor's household as his spoilt sister.

Though treated like the slaves he was by no means a chattel. He could have left at anytime, that or simply walked out.

But this was yet another test.

He knew it was a very mild test compared to some of the ordeals that his master was no doubt planning for his Chosen.

* * *

The aspirant recalled talking over his quest with the Village headman.

"The City of Light is a concept, not a reality." The man had told him.

"It exists! I have seen its photographs in many shrines."

"Photographs can be faked," the headman had continued. "If this City exists...on Spectra...I will say this because there are places like you described on other planets.... Why are there no roads or trade routes to it?"

The youth screwed up his face. "The Spirit isn't interested in mundane matters."

The Headman was still dubious. "I don't know how you can hide an entire city."

"I'm sure the Spirit can. Is he not omnipotent? Didn't he save us from The Fall?" The youth's faith was boundless.

"As I said, I'm no scholar." The Headman couldn't understand why his guest wanted to know all these things. Other people were content with what the village priest told them. The youth was not.

"And the Great One?" He asked with a bitter twist of his lip. "How can he hide??"

"He is everywhere."

"I'm not so sure of that." Replied the youth.

"Think what you like. I'm just taking what I know from `The Book of the Spirit`" the Headman said piously.

"I'd like to know more."

"Then go to Frasman monastery. The Abbot is a very learned man."

"I will." Replied the Youth. This was a start.

* * *

It was nearly three months later that he was recalled to the Abbots guestroom.

"Still here?" Asked the Abbot cheerily by way of disparaging greeting.

"Guess." Replied the youth. If he were going to be patronised he would act that way in return.

"No matter. I have things to show you." He pulled an old leather bound tome from behind his chair.

"This book is at least eight thousand years old." Said Abbot Gordo.

"May I touch it?" Replied the aspirant with awe. Books were expensive items and treated with great respect; he had had no idea that any survived from Pre Fall times.

He took it with great reverence and opened at a random page. The youths smile turned to a perplexed frown; he squinted at the script in obvious annoyance.

"Can't read?"

The youth scowled. He had been caught out. He had never realised that the texts he was so keen to see would be written in an unfamiliar script.

"I can."

"The common trash they teach at school...As a speaker of High Spectran I assumed you would know the old script."

The youth shook his head. He spoke high Spectran because that was the language the now absent Spirit spoke to him in. The Great One had never told him the script was different.

"Caught out?"

"Ok, I admit I'm beat."

"Never mind. You are obviously a self-taught scholar. I'll teach you how to read the script. I have many original texts here. But if you are worthy I'll give you scans too."

"Thank you abbot."

* * *

The Youth settled down as a scholar. It was very hard work. He still slept with the slaves, but now he had to get up before they did. He ate his breakfast cold from the night before cooking, that or went to the kitchens and made porridge for himself. Most of the day was spent in relating his considerable knowledge of High Spectran to the writings. After came a brisk run, or if the weather was bad, an inside workout. After was homework. He was kept very busy.

One day he was tired and whiney. The youth had stalled over his homework, and so his teacher made him read though the passage again.

The youth pouted and threw the book down in disgust.

The Abbot was uncharacteristically angry. "If you're going to act like a child I'll treat you like one." He grabbed his initiate by the ear and dragged him over to the chair. "Now drop your pants."

The youth looked at him incredulously but began to unbuckle his belt.

"I'll have that now," the abbot held out his hand.

"You're not my mother," grumbled the youth sulkily. Only his mother had the privilege of beating him, something she had exercised too often.

"No, I'm not. I expect she's wondering where you are."

The youth wriggled down his leather trousers, then his woollen under trousers.

"I'm not going any further."

"No, I don't want you to go any further, at least not yet." He gestured to the youth's crotch "what's that?"

The youngster blushed.

"I really want to know."

"Stop eyeing me up you perv!"

The abbot shook his head sadly, "there's only one pervert in the room and its not me."

"You waiting for a chance to fuck me, aren't you? Or abuse me in some other fashion? I know full well what a bottom spanking means! Yeow!"

The abbot lashed him across the face with the belt. The aspirant tried to step backwards and fell over his trousers.

The Abbot loomed over him menacingly. "You came here to indulge in your perversions didn't you?"

The youth shook his head, sobbing. "I'm not gay."

"Why are you wearing women's underwear then?"

The youth sighed. "It's a long story."

"Put your clothes back on." He handed back the belt. "Come into my room."

The youth complied, glad to having his thrashing postponed. He rubbed the welt on his face ruefully.

The Abbot rang the bell for tea. "Tell me about your background though I feel I already know something about you."

"I'm an unwanted child. My Mother wanted twin girls. Instead she got one of each."

"Oh. Is that why you wear women's underwear? To be as good as them?"

The youth nodded guiltily. "I also found that it's sometimes useful to disguise myself as a girl."

"Ah?"

"The militia doesn't come looking at me if a girl steals food."

"Oh? Didn't your mother look after you?"

"No."

"What about your father?"

"My father was in utter pants peeing terror of my mother. "

"Was he? A tough case, eh?"

"She was `tough. ` My mother was in the military. She went all over the Empire. She won many medals."

"Did she? She must have held some unusual rank."

"She was a Captain, I think."

"I don't mean standard rank. Most women in the militia never go offplanet. "

The youth nodded. Women kept herds, farmed or fished. Men tended to manufacture things for trade, also travel to other planets of the Empire for such purposes. Though there were many women in authority positions on Spectra, most women did not travel offplanet. The fact that Governor Tomrys had marked her out as unusual.

The abbot looked shrewd. "Was your mother a Devil Star, perhaps?"

The youth frowned; He decided not to answer that one directly. "I have no idea. But she would never have told `me` if she had been."

"Just wondering. They are a group of women military who definitely `do` travel the Empire, That's where they get their other name from. They are called Galaxy Girls."

The youth shook his head. "I have never heard that. But my mother would never have told me if she were."

"Your father was right to be afraid; the Devil stars have a very evil reputation."

Several things clicked in the Youths mind. "So that's where I failed and succeeded. My Mother was wanting two daughters to groom as potential Devil Stars." He put on an evil look. "She's got Mala." He smirked. "And the Great One has `me`."

"So its make your own way in life or become a slave." Sighed the Abbot. "The Luminous One chooses the desperate. You do realise that the course you are taking will probably result in your death, and even if you are accepted by the Great Spirit, you will be enslaved for life?"

He nodded. "But if I can get to the City..."

"Then your journey will just begin. I understand your desire for the City but I'm reluctant to give you any directions. I don't want you to die."

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"Stay with me and study. Become a monk. I am looking for a successor to groom."

The youth gave him an odd and unwelcome look.

"You're not gay are you? "

The youth blushed. "I don't think so."

"You've never?"

He shook his head. "I'm only thirteen."

The abbot was a little taken aback by this revelation; he had honestly thought the youth to be a few years older. He was taller and maturer than most teens. "Purity is a good thing for this, but by no means essential. And its entirely possible that He will require you to get a bit more experienced, with men and women, it doesn't matter to Him."

The youth sat silently in thought. He put his hand up to the mark on his face.

"Is that bothering you?" The Abbot pointed to the purpling welt on the youth's face.

He nodded.

"I'll just." The abbot laid his hands upon the youths face.

"Warm!" He drew back.

The Abbot motioned him to remain still.

"It doesn't hurt." The youth looked odd. "You healed it."

It was the Abbots turn to look oddly at his companion. "I sense great power."

"You do?"

"There's more to you than meets the eye."

The youth puffed himself up. "The Great One speaks to me."

* * *

The youth smiled with deep self satisfaction. Since his revelation he had been treated with the respect he had wanted for so many years.

Of course he had told Abbot Gordo this when they had first met.

Now the holy man believed him.

He now was treated according to his exalted status.

It was not softly.

The youth had fasted and purified himself for the better part of a week. A bowl of gruel a day, nothing more. He slept on the bare stone of an unheated outhouse, and followed a tough regime of meditation, prayer and buckets of icy water poured over the head.

The abbot and his monks had chosen an auspicious day for the ceremony of revelation. Not that he needed it. But the youth did need the knowledge of the road he was to take.

That and the holy symbols upon his person.

He tried not to shiver at what `that` meant.

The Abbot, his underlings and the monks were waiting in the great hall. Floored with well worn stone tiles, hung with silken prayer banners donated over the centuries by many visitors.

Above the Altar hung the blue eternal flame, the symbol of the Spirit himself.

The Abbot stepped forwards and intoned "Hail Spectra."

"Hail Spectra" chorused the monks.

"Hail Spirit."

"Hail Spirit."

"You are assembled here on this auspicious day to be witness to one who seeks enlightenment. Here is Zoltar Latroise; he has been spoken to by the Luminous One and now seeks the City of Light."

The assembled monks looked awed. They had not imagined this of the Abbots pet pupil.

The Aspirant strode forwards; He now wore a coarse grey robe such as initiate monks wore.

The Abbot gestured him to kneel.

"What I am about to reveal is not for profane ears; understand me?"

The aspirant nodded. "I understand, Teacher."

"Those who work for the Spirit, the initiates and messengers of the City of Light, do not sit in seclusion, -they travel everywhere, even to other planets. Very often people do not recognise them, and sometimes they do not recognise each other. But they perform their works, not for themselves, but for the Great Spirit and all of them wear the masks of anominity. They sometimes seem wealthy; yet are without possessions. Everything is for them, but they take nothing for themselves. Thus when you dedicate yourself to the service of the Luminous One, everything is taken and everything is given to you. If you have regrets you yourself become the loser, if you give joyously, you are enriched. Essentially the teaching of the Great One lies in this; The City of Light is on this planet and life, not on another world or heaven...We do not speak of something distant and secreted. It may be sought in the Nebula.

Therefore, if you know the City is here on Spectra, if you know that everything may be achieved here upon Spectra, Then you will be rewarded on Spectra."

The Aspirants smile was radiant; he has suspected this; now it was confirmed.

"Rise Zoltar, Seeker of the City of Light."

The Aspirant stood in one fluid movement. He pulled off his robe; underneath he wore just an ascetic's loincloth.

The abbot waved forwards two of his regular initiates, one bore a brazier with the branding irons heating in it, the other a dusty ceramic jar.

"This is going to hurt, just a little." Reassured the abbot; it wasn't his hide that was getting burnt.

Two of the monastery bashers gripped the aspirant's limbs tightly. The abbot picked a brand from the brazier.

The youth closed his eyes.

All in all he was branded no less than six times. (He had expected only one.)

On his left ankle with Rock Solid.

Just below his ribs Pure of Body and Spirit.

On his spine between his shoulder blades Greater Mind.

Twice, on the insides of both thighs (he allowed himself to wince at this) was the Friend of Arcane Knowledge.

On his right wrist was the symbol of Physical Strength.

The Aspirant began to breathe again. Then the jar was opened revealing a greasy unguent that immediately began to smell up the hall.

"Just something to clean your wounds."

The youth nodded.

The brands hurt but the herbal paste his wounds were treated with burned like fire. He winced and bit his lip, so far he had not cried out.

His head swam, The aspirant fell to his knees, he was seeing double, and if he had not fasted would have been very sick.

"Agggh!" He screamed at last.

He groaned his breathing laboured, his head had started pounding, and all around was now rainbowed in light. The aspirant gulped. This was not normal shock reaction to the pain, he had been drugged.

The aspirant fell unconscious.

* * *

He was dreaming...

He saw a planet of teeming life, instead of the barren steppe and forested mountains, the land was a great garden, growing unheard of fruits and vegetables, strange yet familiar animals grazed contentedly in verdant fields, their more than ample fodder expanded by artificial food supplements that made them grow unimaginably sleek and well groomed.

He flew further on, and came to a massive city, just one of many in the land.

This was composed of massive metal towers, shining in the two suns. They were connected by perfectly straight roads busy with traffic, some of which were trucks like he was familiar with, but most were the small personal vehicles that only his mother owned. (And really it belonged to her villa.)

He went closer still.

There were uncountable people in the cities; all were dressed in expensive clothing made from artificial silks dyed in all the colours of the aurora. Even the slaves who followed their masters bearing big bags of consumer durables were dressed like his mother on a feast day.

The city was so extravagantly lit with lights on every corner and others blazing wantonly from every building. Some of them were simple interior lights, but others were in the form of lines, spelling out words in the high Spectran script.

There had been signs in Wulvatown, all of them religious or edicts from his mother.

These fanciful signs were devoted to no such edification; they advertised goods and services.

The aspirant shook his head; did these people have no religion beyond material gratification?

Something told him that this was indeed so.

The Aspirants attention was drawn to an ordinary star in the sky, it was important, but why?

He fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

When he came around again, he was looking at a big room of computers and other, more esoteric machines, attended to by many scientists. Further on was a smaller room, with several more scientists looking at a screen with stars.

It wasn't a screen, it was a window, he somehow knew; this was a spacecraft.

Their attention seemed to be devoted to just one star.

The star looked ordinary, a yellow, M class star, a loner unlike the twin suns of Spectra.

He knew something was very wrong with that star.

It came all of a sudden to the Aspirant. "Get away! It's going to explode!"

He had read that stars died by exploding, or going nova.

This star was going to make a bigger bang than that, a supernova.

This would affect a large area of the surrounding space, probably up to a hundred light years away.

Somehow he knew the thriving planet was in the danger zone. No wonder the scientists were looking worried.

The aspirant fell back into a slumber.

* * *

He awoke in dark space.

There were few stars in his part of the galaxy; it was very black space.

And one was about to explode.

A long thin object was travelling rapidly though the firmament, a craft of some sort.

The aspirant's viewpoint moved closer, he could see the craft clearly now, it resembled nothing more than a huge golden pencil. Whatever it was, it wasn't a human artefact.

The aspirant was thrilled; he had long heard of theoretical non-human life; this was completely alien.

Somehow he knew it wasn't even from his galaxy, but had come all the way from the Andromeda galaxy, millions of light years away.

The aspirant sensed life in the machine, or life of some sort, for it was not in any way organic, nor was it a self-aware machine.

Instead it was pure spirit.

Now it slowed, and he could see Spectra, the red sun, and the blue sun, in perfect equilateral triangular conjunction.

This was the Luminous One.

* * *

His view changed completely, this was not the dark of space, but of under the earth.

The red sun had changed to a lantern, and the blue was reflected off the rock; he could not see its source.

A man was kneeling, watching the unseen blue light intently.

"So you can save everyone from this catastrophe?" He asked.

"NO," came an extremely ancient voice.

"You cannot?" The man was somehow disappointed.

"I CAN ONLY SAVE THOSE WHO REALLY WANT TO BE SAVED." The voice reassured.

The aspirant nodded to himself. This he was familiar with.

"Then I will tell everyone not to despair, you will save them."

"I HOPE THEY WILL LISTEN TO YOU, TARJEN, HUMANS ARE NOT KNOWN FOR LISTENING TO WISDOM."

"I will try."

"YOU DO YOUR BEST TARJEN, I WILL PREPARE MY RADIATION SHIELDS."

* * *

Now he was back in the city.

His attention was drawn to a man in a blue silk robe standing on the corner. The aspirant was familiar with the attire of the Luminati, such as his religious friends wore.

This monk bore a sign saying THE END OF THE WORLD IS NIGH.

But instead of treating the holy man with respect, as any decent person would have (even Mala) the passers by sneered at him.

`You had better listen to him, ` the aspirant warned mentally, `its true. `

His view changed again.

This was a group of scruffily dressed nomads; a remnant of Spectra's ancient past.

They were in an old wooden built hall, listening to another Luminati.

He was very eloquent, and this paid off.

`Go with him, ` pleaded the aspirant, `you have nothing to lose. `

They are listening, the people filed out with the monk.

* * *

The sun shone brightly.

It was a day in late spring, a few years later, birds sang, grass waved, flowers bloomed.

All was at peace.

But the aspirant with his supernatural vision knew it was the last perfect day.

Night fell, and eventually dawn came.

Everything was as before.

Then the sky began to blaze with the fire of the supernova, which had after light years of travel, had finally reached the planet.

Everything was burnt up, first of all by the shockwave, then by the immense radiation burst of the stricken star.

By the time the red star reached its zenith, all lifeforms on the planet were dead, burned and irradiated to a crisp.

On a great spacecraft on the sheltered side of one of the moons, the chosen of the Great One knelt in prayer.

They had indeed been saved as the Spirit had promised them, but what now?

* * *

The Chosen people had returned to their dead planet.

Under the Luminous Ones instruction, they first of all dug into the sheltered rock, building a new home, much bigger then their cramped craft, but otherwise in no way different.

They then set up a planet wide network of force field generators, when these were finally switched on the world was protected from the deadly radiation that bombarded the plant from the neutron star.

Now they could at last take off their spacesuits.

This was the first day of eternal gratitude.

The chosen had saved many native plants and animals, plus those from other planets they had explored.

Slowly the planet came back to life, though never as fruitful as before.

* * *

When he awoke he was looking at a globe like the one in his mothers study. No, it wasn't a globe; it was the planet in space. In conjunction with the red giant and blue dwarf.

He went closer, his attention fixed upon the great mountains. Desolate.

This was the Spectra of today

He zoomed closer and closer, picking out individual mountain valleys, screes and finally the great trees, he followed up and down the valleys as if searching further, naming each and every landmark as he went.

At the head of one wide valley near a fertile plateau he saw strange, regular marks on the ground.

Clearly artificial, a settlement?

The aspirant went in closer and closer, until he could see the buildings, this was indeed the City of Light, for no other town upon Spectra looked remotely like the city; impossibly high buildings made from precious metals and studded with fancy stones. He was awestruck, never had he imagined the City he was seeking would be at all like this. This was a hundred times better than what he had been told.

The aspirant was directed to a park in the very centre of the city. In it was an ancient basaltic pyramid.

He had found the Temple and dwelling place of his master, the Great One.

* * *

When he came around he found himself in a big bed carved of dark wood. His head was pounding, his mouth was dry and his wounds a dull sting. Nor could he move.

The aspirant found he was bound very firmly. He tried flexing against the ropes, but the unpleasant feel of them made him imagined he had worn his skin raw.

He lay still.

One of the monks came in with a tray.

"What happened?" He asked weakly.

The monk gave him a too nice smile. "Been on a Trip."

"Very funny." Groaned the aspirant.

The monk let him sip from a cup of water; he offered nothing more, though there was a bowl of gruel on the tray. Nor did he untie the irritable youth.

"Bathroom," the youth said, with the unspoken suggestion that he would be pleased if he could take himself.

"You've got a tube there." The monk pointed out helpfully. "Just go. Its what you have been doing for the past four days."

"Four days? "

"I'll fetch the abbot."

* * *

"Thanks for doping me up," growled the Aspirant when his nemesis came in. "That was a low trick to play."

"So it was but I had to find out if you were telling the truth. The drugs made it easier for me to get into your mind." Abbot Gordo explained.

"No privacy eh?"

"If you have been spoken to by the Luminous One then you have no privacy."

"That's different." The aspirant was angry. "It's between my Master and me."

"Who is also `my` Master" the Abbot reminded. "And implant some very important information."

"Couldn't you just tell me?"

"I wasn't sure you were telling the absolute truth."

The youth was pettish. "I told you."

"But even if you were sincere, you could have been mistaken."

"Mistaken?" The youth was weary.

"Mad."

"I'm quite sane. I've been here for four months now. You should know that." He hoped the Abbot hadn't heard of his period as a lunatic.

"But the drugs allowed me to reach inside you mind. The Mighty Spirit has touched you, and he `did` tell you to go meet Him in person."

"Good." The youth sighed. "Will you untie me now?" He asked plaintively.

The abbot's companion loosened the ropes. The youth wriggled in pleasure, in spite of the pain of unused muscles. He checked his limbs; his skin was raw where he had fought his bonds.

"I've got some cream for that." Abbot Gordo reassured him.

"I'll put it on myself; I don't trust you with ointment anymore."

"As you wish."

* * *

Two days later the Aspirant got out of bed. He had eaten well and drunk plenty to purge his system of any residue of drugs; he had no idea what he had been dosed with, but was sure it was potent to knock him out for so long, absorbed though the skin too. But aside from feeling sick and weak there seemed to be no side effects.

He washed all over, checking his wounds. The Aspirant looked at his new decorations ruefully. The Aspirant now had more brands upon him than a chain gang of felons. He knew that the symbols on him had a common meaning and an esoteric one. He hoped the Abbot in a fit of teasing at his youth had not put things `too` insulting upon his person.

* * *

After the ceremony the youth sat drinking tea with the Abbot.

"I guess I'll be losing you soon?" Asked the old man sadly.

The youth nodded. "Pretty soon."

"And I won't see you again?"

"I'll return when I find the city, be sure. There must be some way to reward you."

The Abbot shook his head. "I don't want this place to become known as where the Chosen of the Searing Eye of Enlightenment had his final revelation, thank you. I like it quiet."

"I wasn't thinking of that. Some texts from my Masters own archives, perhaps?"

"We will see." The Abbot reached behind himself and got out a still older book. "Written by a person like you. Read it, but it's very cryptic. I'll tell you the first. It is north of Kathaksunga"

The boy's eyes lit up with interest; they were the intense blues of the superheated oxygen clouds of the nebula.

"No, do not look at me that way!" He waved his hand. "You are not ready yet."

"Am I?" And he pronounced the most secret name of the Great One.

"Ok, ok. You're readier than I thought. I have a palmtop computer; I'll load the texts you need. "

"I'll leave tomorrow." The youth said with finality.

"May the Mighty One be with you."

"He is."

"So he may be...In Spirit." The Abbot looked sad. "But you won't be let near the place unless He wills it. Anything else is to invite annihilation."

"So be it! If I die, I die."

"And your soul?"

"That is the Luminous Ones anyway."

-------------------------------------------------------oOo-----------------------------------------------------------------


	4. The Seeker

THE SEEKER

Part Four of Initiation

By Kondoru

Standard Disclaimers

Thanks to JP for Betaing.

The youth headed towards Kathaksunga.

This was a mountain of ill repute. It was prone to storms and avalanches and had killed many an unwary climber.

People regarded it as haunted and few went near it now.

But the weather was fine for the Seeker nor was he in any danger of avalanches, since he kept below the treeline. The City would not be too high up.

The abbot had supplied him with sturdy clothing and equipment, including a good solar powered palmtop and the promised scans of the books he desired.

The Youth would set up camp early so he had plenty of time to pore over the texts.

* * *

A month later he had a visitor.

She was dressed all in leather the colour of dried blood. Her hair was trimmed neatly in a pageboy style; it was as golden blonde as his was. A blue mask concealed her face.

He knew who she was. He was slightly awed, or would have been in his other, mundane life.

This was a Devil Star.

"Come with me." She ordered in a manner that reminded him almost (but not quite) painfully of his Mother.

He followed.

The Devil Star had holed up in a cave in the boulders. She sat down upon her bedroll and began to take off her jacket while looking at the Seeker expectantly.

She said nothing more but the Seeker knew what she meant.

The youth spent some time in the cave with her

When he left, he was no longer a boy but a man.

* * *

The Seeker spent many years in the wilderness searching for the City. He grew very weary. `North of Kathaksunga` the Abbot had said; He could have meant the holy mountain, or the range it was in, which was a branch of the mountain chain that spanned the continent. The range was one of the most desolate and dangerous on Spectra, second only to the high Polar Regions and deep deserts. The youth had to search what he estimated as several thousand square miles of such territory.

Nor was he sure `just` what he was looking for.

The youth had never seen a city, nor any town bigger than the one his Mother governed; a few tens of thousands of people. Before he left the monastery he had read a bit about cities on other planets. He could not imagine any place like that existing upon Spectra; it was so sparsely populated. As for being in the wilderness?

But he had to take his now absent Masters word as true. (And how did his loss hurt him!)

He had to succeed or die trying; that or forever become an outcast for his failure.

* * *

The next two years he went up the forested valleys, methodically working though each and every one. He had a map programme on his solar powered computer. He would walk up and down the side valleys of every river.

Just `how` big was the City of Light supposed to be?

The youth did not go hungry. He knew how to find edible plants and fish in the rivers. Knowing he was a holy man, the forest animals would bring him food, nuts and berries for the most part, also meat. He feared none of them, and several times shared caves with bears, hyenas and the spotted forest lions. They became his friends, for though a loner now he felt the true pangs of isolation.

His clothing and boots wore out. This did not bother him; He was immune to all but the worst of weather and his feet had become hard and horny. He carried a small waterproof pouch of vital items; his solar powered palmtop and a few books on discs, tinder and flint, and a few tools. He did not need much; indeed much of his meditating was done naked. He kept his clothing hidden in a cave. During winter when it was too cold to travel much he holed up like a bear. He had a store of fuel and food, not that he needed much. He took the opportunity to get a long rest and plan his campaign for the following year.

He also varied his time in sewing his clothes and self pleasure; fantasising about a certain blue mask which had never been removed.

One day in late summer he was exploring along the course of a glacier. The youth intended crossing the river of ice to get to the next range over. He had seen several lights in the sky. Living on a tectonically active planet situated in a radioactive nebula he was well used to lights in the sky, and knew the many reasons behind them, but he was also well aware that what he was seeking was a source of great energy in itself. He had resolved to follow the lights, having no other clue.

He poked at the ice with his staff. It was melting in the sun, water trickling down musically. He decided to play safe and go down glacier, crossing it at its terminus.

Two hours later he reached the jumbled rocks and ice of the glacial melt. He began to pick his way over the mess when his eye caught something embedded in ice. He investigated, pulling away a shard of ice. Cloth. It had been so long since he had seen any human artefacts other than what he carried himself. This was interesting, from the shape of the still shrouded item he knew he had found the body of someone who had fallen in a crevasse, years, possibly centuries ago.

He did not want to touch a corpse. This was the work of outcasts. But he dearly wanted to see if there was anything usable. He stood up in decision. Was he not an outcast himself? But how would he get the body out? He sat back to think. If he waited for the sun to thaw the ice it would be many days if not weeks. Autumn was coming; soon the snow would refreeze. Was this a lesson in patience? Or merely a lesson in ingenuity?

The youth decided not to be patient; he lit several small fires around the body, softening the ice. Then he scraped and dug with a pointed stick until his treasure was free.

This task occupied him for the better part of a week. By the end he had a relatively thawed corpse. He examined it; it was of a woman just at the end of her prime. Well built with curly brunette hair.

Her clothing was rather ragged but still of use; by some miracle her boots still in good condition were fine, and the youth took it as a hopeful sign that they fitted him. She also bore a rucksack and pouches with useful items in. An axe, cigarette lighters and spare fuel, a windup torch and also some data discs.

There was no computer with the discs. Presumably it had been in another bag, now lost. (With more clothes? and makeup? and, he pulled at his dirt felted hair, a hairbrush?)

The discs were designed to last millennia, nor had they changed in millennia. He loaded them into his palmtop and they ran quite well, with only a few incompatibility glitches that were overcome as soon as the computer read the discs. They were religious books, some familiar and others new, also a diary of her travels and what she had seen. It was dated from nearly a hundred years before. His intuition was completely right, she had been a seeker after the City of Light.

And she had failed to find it.

This sobered the youth; just how many people the Spirit had called?

...And how had many died?

He buried her in a cairn on the cliffs beside the glacier, with many prayers for the repose of a soul who had never found what she was seeking.

* * *

That winter he concentrated on the new books more, rather than his random treks. He scanned the text, glad of his new knowledge of High Spectran writing, for all of them were pre-Fall, many thousands of years ago.

The Seeker spent many days laid back on his couch of grass and moss, reading. He was content to read; though once he had got though all the discs then he began to try to interpret them.

He had a sudden thought. He had been supplied with new boots and clothing. This meant he was to leave the safety of the forest and go up into the higher mountains. (He also interpreted the fact that they were women's clothes as an ok to his habits.)

Next spring he changed his range. The Seeker journeyed deeper into the mountains leaving the shelter of the woods behind.

He saw many ruins, which excited his curiosity, but little academic interest. His society had long ago forgotten many secrets of the past and the interest in digging for them.

But he got no closer to his goal.

* * *

It must have been the fourth or fifth year of his quest; he did not care

He now wore furs taken from deer his animal friends had caught. The aspirant had spent many tiresome days in preparing them and sewing them. Something new to him, but his books included a good survival skills manual. He had made fur lined boots and mittens as well.

The mountains were much colder than the forests. Fuel was short, and he often went without hot food or even a fire. Most of the year it was snowy. He had to travel even in this; making a snowhole to sleep in every night.

He still could find no signs of the city.

The woman's texts said it was at the head of a valley, that it was on a major pass and old trade route and to look out for signs of ancient roads.

He had seen none.

He was well aware that some spent their entire lives on the quest, -and even then they did not succeed. He had come so far; it would be pointless to give up now. Perhaps that was what had happened to the woman in the glacier. She had lost faith and been killed for her treachery.

The seeker grew more and more weary.

* * *

The next day he was cross and out of temper. The seeker walked along the course of a river, bits of ice floating between the rocks.

He kicked at an inoffending bit of wood irritably. "It's all a sham and an illusion. I have been deceived by a devil!"

Suddenly he found himself in the icy river. He bellowed in sheer shock at the dreadful cold. The seeker struggled out of the water, furs streaming. He was shivering awfully, teeth chattering. Some bad luck he was in an area with little fuel to build a fire.

He scanned around, looking for shelter. It was a cold day, and though not snowing, was windy. If he did not get his wet things off he would die. He needed shelter. He had a small amount of fuel blocks. Something he had made himself from animal fat and pine resin. He also knew how to bring up his spiritual heat, though was shivering too much to concentrate. Never had his meditational skills been tested like this.

The next he knew, strong hands were stripping him of his wet clothing in no uncertain manner. Before he could protest he was shoved into a sheepskin sleeping bag.

Another body followed him. A warm body.

He fell asleep.

When the youth woke, he found himself dry and much warmer. His companion had climbed out of the bag and had gathered wood for a huge fire.

"Thank you very much."

There was no reply to that. His saviour was sat by the fire roasting a whole goral he had killed. He was pulling chunks of half cooked meat off of the carcass and stuffing them under his beak.

The youth looked again. His companion was clad from head to toe in black, with a birdwinged cape and a beaked helm.

Blackhawk.

In his former life He would have been terrified of such an apparition; now he was merely curious.

"So what do you want in return?"

The silent bird pulled aside his cape to reveal something distinctly unavian.

"Oh!" But the youth had somehow known it would come to that.

* * *

The somewhat humbled; sore and definitely deflowered initiate rubbed snow on his offending part. The past two days and nights had been very unpleasant.

The Blackhawk had had his wicked way with his victim, -several times. The more he struggled and cried out the worse the Blackhawk became. The Seeker had begged for mercy during one of the Blackhawks rests and was just laughed at.

And taken all over again.

Worst of all, he had enjoyed it. It had been good, in a horrible sort of way. The Seeker had never realised that pain was the same as pleasure...

It was just as well that the Hawk had left behind a massive pile of wood. (Where from? as far as the Seeker knew, there were no trees for miles.) And the remains of the goral. Though his clothes were now dry, he was far too sore to walk far. He settled down to re read his books for the umpteenth time.

That and pleasure himself.

He now had a new mask to fantasise about.

After that he decided to finish his quest. He knew a warning when he had been given one.

* * *

Another year passed.

The youth was getting weary. Often he wondered if his quest would ever end. But after the tumble in the river. (How had he got there? The last he knew, he had been walking a few yards from the banks.) He never voiced his disapproval.

The Seeker was getting used to the wilderness.

He had become harder in body. He enjoyed good food and exercise. The wilderness had left its mark upon his body. Though by no means muscular, his limbs were strong, the sinews sticking out on them like veins upon a rock. If needful, he could run from dawn to dusk, or swim, or climb. All three skills useful in his journey, over plains, across rivers and up steep rocky slopes.

He was losing his sanity; he was resigned to that. This time there would be no saving him from himself.

* * *

The Seeker made a cold supper of some cooked meat that a direwolf had given him the day before yesterday; fortunately in a stand of trees. Often he had to dry the meat and eat it as it was. He sighed and rolling himself in the now very worn sheepskin sleeping bag, went off to sleep.

He dreamed.

The seeker dreamed.

He dreamed of his mundane life in his mother's town. Meeting people, eating fancy food, snuggling next to his father at night.

How long had it been since he had seen his parents? He even missed Mala's sly teases.

When he awoke, he was crying.

"So lonely." He said and was frightened by the sound of his voice. "I'm tired, I want to sleep forever, its all a deception."

"Are you so sure of that?"

The youth looked up in terror; it had been so long since he had heard another human voice. Stood before him was a man in the standard blue robe of a fully initiated monk of the Great One. The Seeker fell to his knees and grovelled.

"Holy one, I have spent many years in search of the Great City of Enlightenment, so far I have not found it, although the Mighty Sprit Himself ordered me to go to his temple. I have studied the sacred texts, been branded with the arcane symbols and have known both a Devil Star and Blackhawk without getting killed. Forgive my lack of faith but I'm getting very weary."

"Never mind." The monk laid a hand upon the Seekers head in benediction. "You are closer to your goal than you think."

"Am I?"

"You're very near. Within a days travel."

The Seeker leapt to his feet. "Thank you very much! I will remember your guidance when I stand before the Searing Eye of Enlightenment!"

"Be careful. Heaven and Hell are just a hairs breadth away, if they aren't in exactly the same place."

The Seeker turned to face him.

"Go to the shrine at the head of this valley. There you are to sacrifice what you value most."

And the Monk vanished.

He blinked; then started searching where the man had stood. An illusion. Or a vision? Perhaps he was hallucinating? No matter, he was heading up the valley anyway. If he found a shrine...

Ten hours hard march later the Seeker was at the valley head.

There `was` a shrine. Tumbled down and moss grown. He went up to the shrine and looked around. It was at a pass, and scanning the valley he had just come up, the Seeker could see traces of artificial embankments and cuts; sure sign of an ancient road.

Satisfied the Seeker bedded down for the night. He was tired and tomorrow would take all his concentration.

* * *

Early the next morning the Seeker meditated for a while.

`And you must sacrifice that which you value most. ` The youth gave one of his twisted smiles, the smile that resembled his mothers. He knew full well what was meant by that. He put down his bag and getting out his knife, began to sharpen it. For a while the aspirant sat in meditation. He must get this right.

Unsatisfied with his simple preparations he searched around for wood. Even though the pass was high, there were a lot of trees, including those from the lower slopes. It was sheltered though, and so this didn't surprise him.

With the wood he built a neat pyre by the altar, and stripping off his now very ragged clothing he stacked it upon it, followed by the woman's axe and torch. He would not be needing any of it where he was going.

He had second thoughts about his computer; the Luminous One would no doubt be interested in it for his archives. So the youth laid it on the altar. He meditated until nightfall.

After one last look at the world he was about to depart, the Seeker lit the fire and picked up the knife, a grim smile upon his lips.

"My life and body and soul are yours!"

With that he plunged the knife into his heart. He clearly felt the steel slide between his ribs, well into his chest cavity.

His last sight was of the nebula clouds.

* * *

When he came to he was lying on the altar in a pool of his own blood, the knife by his side. The Chosen one got up, blood had dried on him, but of his injury there was no sign except a tender seeming scar. The knife, bloodied, lay by the embers of his fire.

He looked all around in confusion. No longer was he in a desert valley, but was now surrounded by the shining towers of the city of the Spirit. The shrine was situated in a well kept park.

"Master, I made it!"

He leapt down off the steps, heedless of his naked and blood daubed condition.

* * *

The newly Chosen walked though the city of the Luminous One. The buildings were immense towers, many stories tall. They were lit by many lights. In between the towers there were gardens and lawns; deer and rabbits gazed peacefully. Birds flew about as if they were in a forest and not the oldest city of humanity.

He walked along the path, which led to a road; a few well kept vehicles parked by the side. The Chosen was not sure where he should be heading, so he just kept walking.

Presently he came to an open plaza. There were a few vehicles, but no movement save for the fluttering of the prayer banners, which were ubiquitous in any settlement.

He looked around in confusion. Here was a city and yet so far he had met no one! He smiled. Of course it was not yet dawn. No doubt everyone was still in bed. But he had heard that cities never slept.

The towers looked even better by day. They shone in the light of dawn. Reflecting both the rising sun and the blue daystar in their windows. (He could see it was glass now and not just metals as he had formerly supposed, glass anodised in many metallic shades though.) Truly this was a place of immense sanctity and power.

He continued walking down the road.

Presently he came to a big sign.

YOU ARE NOW ENTERING A RESTRICTED ZONE

The Chosen paused; He decided to pray for guidance.

Come on in, Zoltar, do not stand on ceremony.

Master! His Chosen cried out joyfully.

You took your own sweet time, did you not? My temple is up this road.

I'll be right along. The Chosen hurried along.

Further on up the street were walls and a gate, inside was a park.

Zoltar paused inside the park; clearly these flowers were not of Spectran origin. Nor were they natural.

There had been flowers in his Mothers gardens, but not of such spectacular size and colour. They were just selected ones out of the fields and woods.

Zoltar had a feeling these flowers had been specially bred for their colours. He paused to admire a terran rose.

Zoltar! You can sniff my flowers later!

Sorry master!

The Spirit paused. Do you like my gardens? The plants come from all over the Galaxy.

Oh, I do. He continued up the path.

He nearly stopped by a pond full of big fish, their scales of many glorious hues.

Goldfish, Zoltar.

An apt name.

Move! He gave his tardy servant a telekinetic push.

Did `you` do that?

Guess Zoltar.

You touched me? He was having grave suspicions as to how he had fallen in the river.

Do `not` underestimate my power, Zoltar. Your will is bound to mine. All is possible now.

Oh. He replied noncommittally. The Chosen was not sure of the true extent of the Great Spirits powers.

His Master read that thought. Believe me, Zoltar...Believe in me...

The Chosen stared at nothing. lost in thought. Just `what` kind of deity had he sold his soul to?

Do you want a little demonstration? Like being teleported into a penitent's cell?

Zoltar shook his head. No Master...At least, do so if you think I deserve it...But you can touch me?

It will be the whip next.

Zoltar practically ran the rest of the way to the Temple.

The temple was a blocky building of the regions basalt; the blocks were huge, finely fitted and very worn, moss and algae streaking them. It looked incredibly ancient.

There were no windows but the path led to a great metal door.

On the steps was a priest in robes of deepest shimmering blue. As usual his face was cowled but Zoltar felt sure it was the one he had met in the wilderness.

"Welcome to the Palace of the Great One."

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End file.
